Murder by magic: twenty tales of crime and the supernatural

by edited by Rosemary Edghill

  Memsah’b laughed. “Exactly so. Given that, can you think of any reason why I should encourage Sarah to sit about in a room so thick with incense that it is bound to make her ill when nothing is going to come of it but a headache and hours lost that she could have been using to study, or just to enjoy herself?”

  “An’ a gaggle of silly old women fussing at ‘er.” Nan snorted. “I see, Memsah’b.”

  “And some of the things that you and Sarah are asked to do I believe are too dangerous,” Memsah’b continued with just a trace of a frown. “And why, if grown men have failed at them, anyone should think I would risk a pair of children—” She shook herself and smiled ruefully down at Nan. “Adults can be very foolish—and very selfish.”

  Nan snorted again. As if she didn’t know that! Hadn’t her own mother sold her to a pair of brothel keepers? Neville, perched on her shoulder, made a similarly scornful noise.

  “Has he managed any real words yet, Nan?” Memsah’b asked, her attention distracted. She crooked a finger in invitation, and Neville stretched out his head for a scratch.

  “Not yet, mum—but I kind ‘v get ideers about what he wants t’ tell me.” Nan knew that Memsah’b would know exactly what she was talking about, and she was not disappointed.

  “They say that splitting a crow’s or raven’s tongue gives them clear speech, but I am against anything that would cause Neville pain for so foolish a reason,” Memsah’b said. “And it is excellent exercise for you to understand what is in his mind without words.”

  Quork,said Neville, fairly radiating satisfaction.

  Nan now put her full attention on the task of “understanding what was in Neville’s mind without words.” It proved to be a slippery eel to catch. Sometimes it all seemed as clear as the thoughts in her own mind, and sometimes he was as opaque to her as a brick.

  “I dunno how you do it,” she told Sarah one day, when both she and Neville were frustrated at her inability to understand what he wanted. He’d been reduced to flapping heavily across the room and actually pecking at the book he wanted her to read. She’d have gone to Memsah’b with her problem, but their mentor was out on errands of her own that day and was not expected back until very late.

  Grey cocked her head to one side and made a little hissing sound that Nan had come to recognize as her “sigh.” She regarded Nan first with one grey-yellow eye, then with the other. It was obvious that she was working up to saying something, and Nan waited, hoping it would be helpful.

  “Ree—,” Grey said at last. “Lax.”

  “She means that you’re trying too hard, both of you,” Sarah added thoughtfully. “That’s why Grey and I always know what the others things. We don’t try, we don’t even think about it really, we just do. And that’s because we’ve been together for so long that it’s like—like knowing where your own hand is, you see?”

  Nan and Neville turned their heads to meet each other’s eyes. Nevilles eyes were like a pair of shiny jet beads, glittering and knowing. “It’s… hard,” Nan said slowly.

  Sarah nodded; Grey’s head bobbed. “I don’t know, Nan. I guess it’s just something you have to figure out for yourself.”

  Nan groaned, but she knew that Sarah was right. Neville sighed, sounding so exactly like an exasperated person that both of them laughed.

  It wasn’t as if they didn’t have plenty of other things to occupy their time—lessons, for one thing. Nan had a great deal of catching up to doeven to match Sarah. They bent their heads over their books, Nan with grim determination to master the sums that tormented her so. It wasn’t the simple addition and subtraction problems that had her baffled, it was what Miss Bracey called logic problems, little stories in which trains moved toward each other, boys did incomprehensible transactions with each other involving trades of chestnuts and marbles and promised apple tarts, and girls stitched miles of apron hems. Her comprehension was often sidelined by the fact that all these activities seemed little more than daft. Sarah finished her own work, but bravely kept her company until teatime. By that point, Nan knew she as going to be later than that in finishing.

  “Go get yer tea, lovey” she told the younger child. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

  So Sarah left, and Nan soldiered on past teatime and finished her pages just when it was beginning to get dark.

  She happened to be going downstairs to the kitchen, in search of that tea that she had missed, when she heard the knock at the front door.

  At this hour, every single one of the servants was busy, so she answered it herself. It might be something important, or perhaps someone with a message or a parcel.

  Somewhat to her surprise, it was a London cabbie, who touched his hat to her. “Scuze me, miss, but this’s the Harton School?” he asked.

  Nan nodded, getting over her surprise quickly. It must be a message, then, from either Memsah’b or Sahib Harton. They sometimes used cabbies as messengers, particularly when they wanted someone from the school brought to them. Usually, it was Sahib, wanting Gupta, Selim, or Karamjit. But sometimes it was Nan and Sarah who were wanted.

  “Then Oi’ve got a message, an’ Oi’ve come t’ fetch a Miss Nan an’ a Miss Sarah.” He cleared his throat ostentatiously and carried on as if he was reciting something he had memorized. “Mrs. Harton sez to bring the gur-rels to ‘er, for she’s got need of ‘em. That’s me—I’m t’ bring em up t’ number ten, Berkeley Square.”

  Nan nodded, for this was not, by any means, the first time that Memsah’b had sent for them. Although she was loath to make use of their talents, there had been times when she felt the need to—for instance, when they exposed the woman who had been preying on one of Memsah’b’s old school friends. London cabs were a safe way for the girls to join her; no one thought anything of putting a child in a cab alone, for a tough London cabbie was as safe a protector as a mastiff for such a journey.

  Nan, however, had a routine on these cases that she never varied. “Come in,” she said to the cabbie imperiously. “You sits there. Oi’ll get the gels.”

  She did not—yet—reveal that she as one of the “gels.”

  The cabbie was not at all loath to take a seat in the relative warmth of the hall while Nan scampered off.

  Without thinking about it, she suddenly knew exactly where Sarah and Grey and Neville were; she knew, because Neville was in the kitchen with the other two, and the moment she needed them, she’d felt the information, like a memory, but different.

  Stunned, she stopped where she was for a moment. Without thinking about it—so that was what Grey had meant!

  But if Memsah’b needed them, there was no time to stand about contemplating this epiphany; she needed to intercept Karamjit on his rounds.

  He would be inspecting the cellar about now, making certain that no one had left things open that should have been shut. As long as the weather wasn’t too cold, Memsah’b liked to keep the cellar aired out during the day. After all, it wasn’t as if there were fine wine in the old wine cellar anymore that needed cool and damp. Karamjit, however, viewed this breach in the security of the walls with utmost suspicion and faithfully made certain that all possible access into the house was buttoned up by dark.

  So down into the cellar Nan went, completely fearless about the possibility of encountering rats or spiders. After all, where she had lived, rats, spiders, and other vermin were a matter of course. And there she found Karamjit, lantern in hand, examining the coal door. Not an easy task, since there was a pile of sea coal between him and the door in the ceiling that allowed access to the cellar.

  “Karamjit, Memsah’b’s sent a cab t’ fetch me ‘n’ Sarah,” she said. “Number ten, Berkeley Square.”

  Berkeley Square was a perfectly respectable address, and Karamjitnodded his dark head in simple acknowledgment as he repeated it. “I shall tell Sahib when he returns from his warehouse,” Karamjit told her, turning his attention back to the cellar door.

  He would; Karamjit never forgot anything. Selim might, but Karam
jit never. Satisfied, Nan ran back up the stairs to collect Sarah, Grey, and Neville—and just for good measure, inform the two cooks of their errand. In Nan’s mind, it never hurt to make sure more than one person knew what was going on.

  “Why do you always do that?” Sarah asked when they were both settled in the closed cab, with Grey tucked under Sarah’s coat and Neville in his hatbox.

  “Do what?” nan asked in surprise.

  “Tell everyone where we’re going,” Sarah replied with just a touch of exasperation. “It sounds like you’re boasting that Memsah’b wants us, and we’re getting to do things nobody else in the school gets to.”

  “It does?” Nan was even more surprised: that aspect simply hadn’t occurred to her. “Well, that ain’t what I mean, and I ain’t goin’ ter stop, ‘cause sommun oughter know where we’re goin’ ‘sides us. What if Memsah’b got hurt or somethin’ else happened to ‘er? Wouldn’ even hev t’ be anything about spooks or whatnot—just summun decidin’ to’ cosh ‘er on account uv she’s alone an’ they figger on robbin’ ‘er. What’re we supposed ter do if that ‘appens? Oo’s gonna lissen t’ couple uv little girls, eh? ‘Ow long’ud it take us t’ find a perleeceman? So long’s summat else knows where we’ve gone, if there’s trouble, Sahib’ll come lookin’ fer us. But ‘e can’t if ‘e don’t know where we are, see?”

  “Oh.” Sarah looked less annoyed. “I’m sorry, I thought you were just—showing off.”

  Nan shook her head. “Nah. I show off plenty of ‘tis,” she added cheerfully, “but—well, I figger around Memsah’b, there’s plenty uv things t’ go wrong.”

  “Clever bird,” Grey said, voice muffled by Sarah’s coat.

  Quorak,Neville agreed from within his box.

  Sarah laughed. “I think they agree with you!” she admitted, and changed the subject. “I wonder why Memsah’b sent for us?”

  “Dunno. Cabbie didn’t say,” Nan admitted. “I don’t think ‘e knows. All I knows that Berkeley Square’s a respect’ble neighborhood, so it might be one of ‘er fancy friends again. Not,” she added philosophically “that ye cain’t get coshed at a respect’ble place as easy as anywhere’s else. Plenty uv light-fingered lads as works Ascot, fer instance.”

  “Do you always look on the bright side, Nan?” Sarah asked in a teasing tone of voice that told Nan she was being twitted for her pessimism.

  Nan was just about to let her feelings be hurt—after all, just how was someone whose own mother tried to sell her to a brothel keeper supposed to think?—when her natural good humor got the better of her. “Nah,” she said dismissively. “Sometimes I get pretty gloomy.”

  Sarah stared at her in surprise for a moment, then laughed.

  It was fully dark when they arrived, and the cabbie dropped them off right at the front door. “The lady sed t’ go on in, an’ up t’ the room up there as is lit,” he told them, pointing to an upper room. Light streamed from that window; very much more welcoming than the rest of the darkened house. Before either girl could ask anything further, he snapped the reins over the horse’s back and drove off, leaving them the choice of standing in the street of following his directions.

  Nan frowned. “This don’t seem right. There oughter be servants about.”

  Sarah, however, peered up at the window. “Memsah’b must be with someone who’s hurt or ill,” she said decisively. “Someone she doesn’t dare leave alone.” And before Nan could protest, she’d run up to the door and pushed it open, disappearing inside.

  Bloody ‘ell. Nan hurried after her, with Neville croaking his disapproval as his box swung beneath her hand. But she hadn’t a choice: Sarah was already charging up the staircases ahead of her. Something was very wrong here. Where were the servants? There hadn’t been any furniture or pictures in the front hall, either.

  She raced up the stairs, her feet thudding on the dusty carpet covering the treads, aided only by the light from that single door at the top. She wasn’t in time to prevent Sarah from dashing headlong into the lit room, so she, perforce, had to follow, right in through that door left half-ajar invitingly. “Memsah’b!” she heard Sarah call. “We’re here, Mem—”

  Only to stop dead in the middle of the room, as Sarah had, staring at the cluster of paraffin lamps on the floor near the window, lamps that had given the illusion that the otherwise empty room must be tenanted.

  There was nothing in that room but those four lamps. Nothing. And more important—no one.

  “It’s a filthy trick!” Nan shouted indignantly, and turned to run out—

  Only to have the door slammed in her face.

  Before she could get over her shock, there was the rattle of a key in the lock and a further sound as of bolts being thrown home. Then footsteps rapidly retreating down the stairs.

  The two girls looked at each other, aghast.

  Nan was the first to move, because the first thought in her mind was that the men she’d been sold to had decided to collect their property, and another girl as well for their troubles. Anyone else might have run at the door, to kick and pound on it, screaming at the top of her lungs. She put the hatbox down and freed Neville. Even more than Grey, the raven, with his murderous claws and beak, was a formidable defender in case of trouble.

  And Neville knew it; she felt his anger and read it in his ruffled feathers and the glint in his eye.

  Grey burst from the front of Sarah’s coat all by herself, growling in that high-pitched, grating voice that she used only when she was at her angriest. She stood on Sarah’s shoulder, every feather erect with aggression and wings half-spread.

  Nan growled under her breath herself and cast her eyes about, looking for something in the empty room that she could use as a weapon. There was what was left of a bed in one corner, and Nan went straight to it.

  “Sarah, get that winder open, if you can,” she said, wrenching loose a piece of wood that made a fairly satisfactory club. “Mebbe we can yell fer help.”

  She swung the bit of wood, feeling the heft of her improvised club. With that in her hand, she felt a little better—and when whoever had locked them in here came back—

  “Nan—”

  At the hollow tone in Sarah’s voice, Nan whirled and saw that she was beside the window, as white as a sheet.

  “Nan, I don’t think a stick is going to be much use now…” She faltered, pointing a trembling finger at the lamps.

  And as Nan watched, the flames of the lamps all turned from yellow to an eerie blue. All Nan could think of was the old saying Flames burn blue when spirits walk.

  Nan felt every hair on her body standing erect, and her stomach went cold, and not because of some old saying. No, oh no. There was danger, very near. Sarah might have sensed it first, but Nan felt it surrounding both of them and fought the instinct to look for a place to hide.

  Neville cawed an alarm, and she turned again to see him scuttle backward, keeping his eyes fixed on the closed door. The lamp flames behind her dimmed, throwing the room into a strange, blue gloom. Neville turned his back on the door for a moment, but only long enough to leap into the air, wings flapping frantically, to land on her shoulder. He made no more noise, but Grey was making enough for two. His eyes were nothing but pupil, and she felt him shivering.

  “There’s something outside that door,” Sarah said in small frightened voice.

  “And whatever ‘tis, locks and wood ain’t goin’ t’ keep it out,” Nan said grimly. She did not say aloud what she felt deep inside.

  Whatever it was, it was no mere ghost, not as she and Sarah knew the things. It hated the living; it existed to feed on terror, but that was not all that it was or did. It was old, old—so old that it made her head ache to try and wrap her understanding around it, and of all that lied, it hated people the most. That thing out there would destroy her as casually as she would swat a fly—but it wanted Sarah.

  Grey’s growling rose to an ear-piercing screech; Sarah seemed frozen with fear, but Grey was not; Grey was ready to defend Sarah w
ith her life. Grey was horribly afraid, but she was not going to let fear freeze her.

  Neither was Neville.

  And I ain’t, neither! Nan told herself defiantly, and though the hand clutching her club shook, she took one step—two—three—

  And planted herself squarely between whatever was behind the door and Sarah. It would have to go through her, Neville, and Grey to reach what it wanted.

  I tol’ Karamjit where we went—an’ when Memsah’b comes ‘ome wit’out us…

  She knew that was the only real hope: that help from the adults would come before that… Presence… decided to come through the door after them. Or if she could stall it, could somehow delay things, keep it from actually attacking—

  Suddenly, Grey stopped growling.

  The light from behind her continued to dim; the shadows lengthened, collected in the corners, and stretched toward them. There was no more light in here now than that cast by a shadowed moon. Nan sucked in a breath—

  Something dark was seeping in under the door, like an evil pool of black water.

  The temperature within the room plummeted; a wave of cold lapped over her, and her fingers and toes felt like ice. That wave was followed by one of absolute terror that seized her and shook her like a terrier would shake a rat.

  “Ree—,” Grey barked into the icy silence. “Lax!”

  The word spat so unexpectedly into her ear had precisely the effect Grey must have intended. It shocked Nan for a split second into a state of not-thinking, just being—

  Suddenly, all in an instant she and Neville were one.

  Knowledge poured into her; and fire blossomed inside her, a fire of anger that drove out the terror, a fierce fire of protectiveness and defiance that made her straighten, take a firmer grip on her club. She opened her mouth—

  And words began pouring out of her—guttural words, angry words, words she didn’t in the least understand, that passed somehow from Neville to her, going straight to her lips without touching her mind at all. But she knew, she knew, they were old words, and they were powerful…